Quilted
by Margo86
Summary: Stories from childhood. Ch 6 Raven's childhood nightmare. Sit down and enjoy a read. Or two.
1. Raven:First Taste

I am still working on my other story. I really wanted to get this up though, and in my haste, it may not be the best, but I am partially satisfied with what has been written. Beast Boy and Robin will be next and I think I'll write them in first person. Maybe I'll even change this to first person will see. But it won't be up for a while because I'm working on a final project for this class. Stupid String Theory. Anyways, Happy reading to you all! Please enjoy!

**I do not own teen titans and some artistic licensing has been taken in this story. I don't really know raven's child hood, but it's a fictional story.**

* * *

The woman handed the man some change, and then she picked up the last box. Her daughter walked carefully behind her as a silent spectator. As they left the yard sale, she watched as the man that her mother had just paid cheat an old woman on her purchase.

The pair walked down the ragged streets. Graffiti decorated many of the old buildings. Alarms and shots could be heard in the distance. Loud music came from cars that rolled by, forcing the girl to cover her ears. The woman looked down at her daughter and nodded sympathetically. The girl frowned and faced forward. With in her, emotions stirred furiously. She bit her lip and wondered if she was being punished.

They came to an apartment building. Careful as to not step on a man who had made his home in the doorway, the two made their way in to their new home.

Once inside their room, the woman settled her down on the wooden floor. Boxes stacked on top of one another were strewn about the room, looking like mismatched buildings in a patchwork city. The ones they had just bought joined the rest. The windows that had been opened allowed the cool, fading summer air to move freely in and out of the room as it pleased. Outside, the light had begun to fade, and sounds of night settled in to place.

The girl fidgeted. Her nose itched. She peaked one eye open and then the other, both of them staring down to the tip of the offended appendage. She wiggled it. It still itched. Again. No relief. Her eyes were already opened, she reasoned to herself. It wouldn't hurt if she did scratch it. Lifting a delicate hand to her face, she gave it rub. Returning to her pose, her head _happened_ to turn towards the window. Everything was so alien, so new but dull. The solace of Azarath was completely absent in this world, as was the beauty. Like there was a shadow hanging over everything.

Why was it she had to sit her right away with her mother and meditate? It was impossible to. No one here seemed to respect anything, especially peace. She found herself leaning closer to the window, as if this could get her to where she wanted.

The change had been sudden. In the night, arms had scooped her up from slumber. Sleepily she had gazed up at her mother. She had seemed frightened, but smiled when she saw her daughter looking at her.

" It's ok sweetie, just go back to sleep." Her mother had cooed at her. Nevertheless, there was fear in her mother's eyes. The little girl could tell. Though she was only four, it was clear she held with in her an old soul. For the things she would come to bare would need, nothing more than the experience age can bring.

'_Ummph'_ The girl landed on her side. She had leaned too far over while she thought. Her mother opened her eyes and frowned.

"Rae-Rae, we have to do this. You need to concentrate. You need to do your practices." Her mother's voice rang. The girl watched as her mother ran her hand through her hair, seemingly frustrated. Raven's eyes began to shimmer. She had not meant to upset her mother.

The lights blinked off. The boxes surrounding them shrunk back into the corners. Shame and sadness were palpable, choking the room with their grip. The mother quickly cupped the child's face, but this seemed to upset the girl more. Boxes tipped opened, like a reason being searched for amongst their contents. Confusion had now been thrown into the mix, and the child was begging for answers.

Where was Azar? Where was the silence? The serenity? All that was here was discord and why had they left in the middle of the night? Where was their home?

Her mother fell back in surprise. The child still sat bubbling over with cluttered emotions that had been strong enough to stroke the woman's mind. She did not realize that children had such cognitive activity. But then again, her daughter was not ordinary. With maternal instinct at hand, the woman briskly raised herself and maneuvered in to the kitchen, dodging various household elements caught up in emotion.

Raven sat, objects twirling around her small body. The child's eyes sparkled with grief; the absence of understanding had disrupted the poor child severely.

Her mother reappeared at the doorway; her hand was holding a steaming mug. She came to the child, stroking a fallen strand of hair out of the child's eyes.

What could make her understand? How could she tell her daughter she was a threat to humanity? How could she say they left because of her? How could she say that in her darkness moments, she too, had thought maybe it was best to destroy this life she had created? Not for the sake of civilization, far from that. Humans were innately evil in her eyes. There was no good to be found in a person. Wickedness and greed reigned supreme inside of them. She had been shunned from their society and the Azaranians had saved her. However, they had turned on her as well. And in a moment of weakness, she had thought maybe it was better for her daughter to be exterminated.

The thought of her daughter having to suffer through life overwhelmed her. She would never be like other children. Life would be like living in a box, watching through a window. Emotions would always be tightly monitored. The child would have to remain untouched by life's gifts for the sake of the world. And for a moment, Arella had hesitated. Her own bias creeping in and contorted her decision. But this was not her life; it was her child's. Though there would be inedible hardships, there may be some hope. A gift that Raven could touch and deserved to receive.

The woman handed the mug to the child. A smell of familiarity struck the girl. She looked up to her mother. The woman smiled.

"I have a feeling this will remind you of home."

The girl looked down into the cup and then up to her mother. Her mother nodded her head with encouragement as the girl hesitated. The last time she had taken a cup of tea, a priestess had reprimanded the child. Nevertheless, it was inviting to the girl, like home had been. Raven took a sip and then another. The natural flavor flooded her mouth as well as her mind. She almost felt as if she was back in the courtyard mediating with the sound of silence.

The tea seemed to relax the child's anxieties and the woman nodded with approval. She reached her hand out to her daughter, holding the girl's thin face. For a moment, they shared each other's gaze and an understanding that there would be many more cups of tea to come.


	2. Jinx:Nameless

Ok I lied. I just got this idea for Jinx and well I had to write it. No but seriously, I have a project to work on and blah. Thank you shadowsong for your review. I hope you did enjoy it. The only reason I had Raven's mother contemplating killing her daughter was because she didn't want raven to have live the life that Raven was doomed to live. But in the end the mother considered life more important no matter how you have to live it and whom you live with. Because life is awesome. But that's just my opinion. Anyway, hope you liked it. And I'm sure you knew all that anyway.

As always, I do not own Teen Titans or Ford.

* * *

Her unusual eyes skimmed the landscape. The heat had caused her white cotton blouse to stick to her thin body. She was so slender and underweight for her height that it had caused the school counselor to take notice. She was called into a meeting that discussed good eating habits and body image. The words from the counselor had slurred in and out of her mind. She knew there was nothing wrong. She just couldn't put on the weight. Besides, everything on her was muscle anyway. It was from her gymnastics. The only thing that kept her focused. Why would she stop eating if it meant sacrificing the one thing that mattered to her? 

Her eyes flickered as a group of girls scurried passed her. Their conversation became hushed as they crossed her, but she could still imagine what they were saying.

'She is the _Bruja_, the Witch.' 

Her pink hair fluttered slightly from a stir of wind.

Most people spoke this way. There was nothing else to do in a small town. It had started with her arrival; dropped off on the stoop of her uncle's house one day. A small child sitting for hours on concrete block, waiting for something. Until her uncle had opened the door, she had not moved.

Then it was her odd appearances; the coloring of her was unlike anything most people had seen. Reasonable people believe it was a birth defect, but the most superstitious of the town claimed she was _aojar, _jinxed. It didn't help either that accidents followed the girl like children following the Pied Piper. Little things, like Arador Even's falling out of a tree. Or when Paco Ledesma had lost his hand while cutting his lawn. Though it seemed she was not the direct link to the cause, in some twisted way, if someone pieced together the prints, she was connected. Always with in a close distance to the victem, she now was the villages' pariah.

With this washed over her, the town had claimed her identity. Since no one dare get near her, for the fear of becoming _aojar _also, she remained an enigma. And she couldn't place the pieces together either. She couldn't even recall being called by her name, or even if she had one.

She could remember when she had done her first flip, however. Her uncle had been in a drunken rage, swinging his massive body around. He staggered towards her and then began to fall like a cut tree. Instinctively, her body flexed, and she flipped automatically away from the danger. When she had landed, she had felt almost at home. And that was a feeling she knew she had to keep.

With the junk in the yard, she had built a make shift gym. It wasn't much, but at the same time, it was everything.

She shaded her eyes from the hot sun as a brown Ford Bronco pulled up to the school. Sighing, she trudged across the dead grass to the car. She stepped into the car and sat down, sinking into the worn, tan seat.

Her uncle, in the driver's seat, sat taking a long drag at his cigarette as he scratched a lotto ticket with a quarter. The shavings landed gracefully in the man's lap.

He took a good look at the paper and then sighed with a defeated tone.

"Too bad you ain't good luck," and then flicked the ash from his cigarette.

The girl turned away from him to stare out the window.

Her breathing was heavy. Sweat swept itself down her agile frame. She held herself steady. Two round-offs and then a pirouette. She balanced. A back walkover. Then a back handspring. She found herself upside down in the air, and watched as the world blurred before her. But for her, this was all right side up. The ground caught her feet. She held herself there. For those few still moments, she almost felt she had captured something. However, as quickly as it had come, as quickly as it did leave. She straightened herself up. Another time she would get it, another landing would reveal the answers to her.

Up and down the world went. The creaking of the trampoline would have most likely frightened anyone else, but the girl continued to flip. On her sixth flip, she came to rest. The bouncing slowed, until she was still on the black spread. The sun had begun to fade. She examined the cluttered yard. Rusted car parts were littered everywhere. It was like a graveyard of twisted metal.

The house needed to be painted.

Yelling could be heard next door from the neighbors.

A shady group of teenagers hadswarmed togetherat the corner under a flickering street light.

She could hear the beeping of the microwave sounding from inside the house. Soon her uncle would appear at the doorway, sticking the TV meal through the ripped screen.

She stared back defiantly at the setting sun. A breeze ruffled through her pink locks.

She would get out of here- any way she could.


	3. Terra:Promise

Ok so I lied again. You can see where my priorities stand. Anyway, this is about Terra. Another idea that I wanted to write. This I suppose explains Terra's disparity on promises. Why she was so insistent on Beast Boy swearing he wouldn't tell about her powers. So this is the origin of that.

* * *

The road was before them. Everything behind would remain tightly wound in memory. 

The car's air conditioning had broke forty miles back. They had cracked their widows, but the hot air was little relief. Her thin arm hung outside the window, swimming along with the wind. Up and down. Up and down. Her mother whistled along with the static radio. She watched as her mother fiddled with a butterfly clip that was in the mother's hair. It had been passed down from great grandmother to grandmother to mother and someday to her. But for now it held her mother's hair in place, while her own strands whipped furiously in the wind.

They had been traveling for a while when her mother suddenly pulled them over to the side of the road. Her mother grinned with anticipation. The woman took her hand excitedly, pulling her across the seat.

"I wanted you to see this. To appreciate it."

When the door was open, the girl immediately threw her hand across her face. The smell was more than a person could bear. She looked up at her mother who had begun to giggle. Her mother took her hand and led her across the road.

She let her mother take her all the way to the shoreline. The water was still as was everything around it. Kissing the top of her head, her mother smiled at her.

Then her mother bent down on all fours. She saw as the woman waved for her to come down as well. She hesitated and then joined her mother on the ground.

"What are we looking for?" She said almost in a whisper.

Her mother cupped hands around her face, and brought their faces close to one another. It felt like they were in a cave or a tomb discovering treasures not seen by human eye for thousands of years. Her mother's hot breath hit her and she noted the sparkle in her mother's eyes.

"A skipping stone. A perfect skipping stone is what we seek my dear."

Her mother then released her and they both scoured the ground searching for the prize.

Suddenly her mother shot up and shouted with joy. She grinned and wandered over towards the woman. As quickly as the outburst had came her mother now stood still. Then turning the woman focused attention out towards the barren lake. The mother's eyes narrowed and then with a flick of a hand, the rock went soaring across the lake. The girl cheered and wrapped her arms tightly around the woman. She then felt her mother take her hands away from what they grasped. She looked up to her mother. The eyes she saw that usually sparkled with mischief and excitement now held hesitation. Like a question was being rolled over in the mother's head. It made the girl let go completely. They stood for a moment and then the mother smiled.

'Hey baby, now you try."

A stone was dropped into her hand. She clasped it with tiny fingers and then unclasped it. She sighed and then walked carefully up to the water. Her bare feet met with the water, her toes kissed by the small ripples caused by the wind. She closed her eyes and bit her lip in uncertainty.

She gave it a toss. It plopped into the placid water. She frowned with frustration. Her mother laughed.

"It's in your wrist sweetie. Here let me help you."

With her mother's arm holding hers, they moved in one motion. Releasing the rock, it sped across the water, until it was no longer in sight. She looked up to her mother, a wide grin across her small face. The mother looked back down and the back out to the water, as if trying to trace the rock's path.

"We will do so much traveling Terra; like rolling stones. This is just the beginning. I want you to see Mammoth cave. Oh and the Ozarks. And will go up to Alaska to see the Northern lights. However, before we do, I know this great place for pie. Best place for apple. Then we can visit the amusement park my friends own."

She took her mother's hand and they walked back to the car.

The road bounced beneath the tires. She had lain her head in her mother's lap. Her feet dangled off the edge of the seat and she wiggled her toes freely. She saw her mother look at her and stick a tongue out. She returned the gesture by crossing her eyes and sucking her cheeks in. They laughed as her mother pulled into a parking space in front of the giant glowing sign that read in red lights _BENS._

She ran ahead to open the door. Her mother bowed graciously and then took her hand. Some folks nodded at them as they walked in. A man winked at her as he gave the cue ball a hit. It knocked into the number five hitting it in to the pocket.

They seated themselves at the bar. A tired, young waitress approached them.

"What'll it be for yah two tanight?"

"The usual Pam."

The server nodded and then disappeared into the back room.

The girl spun on her stool as her mother primped by looking into a spoon. The girl giggled. Her mother set down the utensil and looked at her.

"What, may I ask, is so funny."

"You're using a spoon as a mirror mommy when there is a mirror right in front of you."

Her mother straightened up and sniffed proudly. "When we're at this home, this is the mirror I use to check on myself. It reminds me where I am and where I could be going." Her mother then held the spoon in front of the girl's face.

"You're my daughter and will do so also."

A contorted visage smiled back at her. She felt something slid up beside her and as she looked down, a gorgeous apple pie was before her. She looked up to her mother and grinned.

"It's also magic too! It brought the pies to us!"

Before long, the pies had vanished. Two very satisfied customers smiled at one another as they left the restaurant. They loaded themselves into the car. She slid across the seat to be closer to her mother. Her mother wrapped an arm around her and started the car up. The headlights glared out into the darkness as they guided the travelers' back on to the road. She snuggled her face into her mother's stomach. For moment, she held her breath. The action had reminded her of when her mother had made her rest her ear to the ground. Her mother had turned towards her.

"You are part of the earth. You must become in tune with it. No matter what happens, you will never be lost. Everywhere is your home."

She had looked back to her mother; the intensity revealed startled her slightly. She dug her hand into the dirt, letting it be manipulated by her fingertips.

This had happened right before her mother had taken them away. Right before he could have the chance to find them. Not that he would want to, but there was always the possibility.

She felt her eyes grow heavy and she waned off in to a slight doze.

Her mother jabbed a finger into her side. She motioned with her hand to leave her alone, but her mother grabbed her and propped her up. Her eyes were met by a bedazzlement of lights. Screams could be heard as a roller coaster descended from the sky. Music from the carousel drifted lazily around the park. Pink clouds of cotton candy floated by.

"What shall we do first?" her mother asked.

"Everything." She replied.

They stumbled over to a bench. Literally, they must have been all over the park. From winning games at a plethora of booths, to riding the roller coaster ten times until they puked, the park had treated them.

Her mother fiddled with her blond strands, weaving them in and out to form a loose braid. She liked the feel of her mother's fingers between her long hair. She sighed and thought to herself out of all the places they had been to recently, this was the best home yet. Just her and her mother. And it would be that way forever.

She felt a tug on one of the braids.

"You should go on the Tilt-A-Whirl. It will be the last ride."

She smiled at her mother and then took the hand that was on her braid and led her mother over to the ride. She ran ahead and then waited for her mother so she could escort the woman up the ramp. But her mother stayed back. She walked over to where her mother stood. Her mother placed a hand on her head.

"Baby, your still hunger aren't you?"

She shook her head, which made her mother laugh lightly.

"You're always hungry. With the appetite you have, you could out eat at least a whole foot ball team of grown men. Now go on and I'll be back with three cotton candies; one for me and two for you."

She hesitated, delicately playing with her mother's hand. Her mother squatted down and cupped her face with a hand.

"Don't worry, I'll be right back. I promise."

Taking the clip from the hair strands it held the mother pulled back the girl's golden locks and snapped the clip into place. Her mother kissed her head as she was escorted on to the Tilt –A-Whirl. As the bar was brought down across her lap, she watched her mother fade into the crowd.

The ride started up with a creak. Slowly, her compartment spun, like a batter taking a swing at a ball. Everything became an impressionistic blur. The lights made her head spin. She clung tighter to the bar as if this could keep her grounded. Shouts and squeals swarmed the air. She too would have been having more fun if her mother had been there with her. All that this could suffice was confusion. The ride would be over soon; however, and then she could rejoin her mother.

Her eyes started to register actually figures instead of smears. The shouts became less, and a creak singled the stop. She fidgeted in her seat. A man had started to come around lifting the bar up for people. He was at least three away from her. She tapped lightly on the bar. It wouldn't matter how soon he came or not. Her mother would be waiting for her with a tall mound of cotton candy. Moreover, after they finished, they would continue their trip. Maybe they could even go back to _BENS_ for a second pie. Perhaps pie for breakfast.

She felt the tension on her lap released and immediately jumping out of her seat she raced down the ramp. Flinging herself into the crowed, she searched for her mother. It was like walking through a forest, the people towering over her like red oak trees.

Suddenly, she spied a lean figure standing at the snack bar. She grinned and raced over, throwing her arms around her mother's legs. She waited for her mother to kiss her on the head. Instead, she was shoved to the ground. The adult stared down at her with menacing eyes.

"Get away from me you little brat. I'm not your skank of a mother."

She backed away from the person. She should have realized it wasn't her mother; the woman reeked of cigarettes and booze.

She was tired. The park was starting to empty. She shivered slightly. She didn't know what time it was. A growl from her stomach disrupted her thoughts. Clutching her stomach, she wandered over to the bench her mother and her had been sitting on earlier. Maybe that's where her mother expected to her. As she lay down she watched the lights snap off on the Ferris Wheel. A wind whipped up some dirt, spinning it around in little circles. She reached up and touched her head. She felt the clip and pulled it out. It had been handed down for generations her mother had explained to her. Fingering it, she sat up and placed it back in her hair. It was now hers.


	4. Beast Boy:Chicken Little

_Well this is Beast Boy becoming a vegetarian. I have to applaud the writes on this detail. It is so cool that they would think would take that in to consideration. It gives much more depth to the character. Perhaps I am bias because I have been a vegetarian for nearly seven years. All I can say is that soy is the versatile food in the whole world! Yey for soy! Anyway, I really enjoy writing these stories and I hope those who read will enjoy them as well. And can I just say I'm so looking forward to the new Teen Titan's episodes. They look so god brilliant amazing! Ok so I do not own Teen Titans._

* * *

The cheetah raced through the tall grasses. The setting sun illuminated its figure, showing off its healthy, thick coat. Suddenly, it stopped its run, its ears twitching preemptively. Bring its body low to the ground, it peered through the long grass. A woman could be seen at the clearing, her face covered in worry. She shaded her eyes with her palm searching the arid landscape. Once she turned her back away from the predator, what could have been called a smile appeared across the cheetah's mouth. It maneuvered on its belly up to edge of the clearing. With its tail batting back and forth, it readied itself with its strong hind legs. The creature sprung with a glint in its jade eyes. Just as the woman turned back, she saw the creature springing at her. As she reached down to her belt for her gun, the animal morphed in to a child, flying through the air towards her. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her madly. She felt weak in her knees, and her arms left her belt and grasped her baby. He brought his head out from her chest and smiled at her with a toothy grin. 

"What's for dinner?" She opened her mouth in astonishment. She didn't know whether to reprimand him or laugh at him. His child eyes sparkled at her. She stood there like a fish, her mouth opening and closing. This boy, her miracle child, never ceased to amaze her. To think she had almost lost him once frightened her, but to lose him again would devastate her. Everyday was a scrape with death for her boy. Because he constantly insisted on risky behavior for his fun. Even before he had fallen ill, he was well… a boy. Into everything. Much like his father. Now, with his incredible abilities he found new ways to play his pranks and scare a mother even more. She kissed his forehead, deciding to settle the matter later.

"Chicken, baby. Let's go inside." For a moment, she thought his smile flickered but perhaps it was only a trick from the fading light.

His legs dangled from the chair. He leaned himself over the edge of his seat trying to touch the floor. Someday he would be tall enough and his feet would touch with out even trying. He swayed his legs back and forth. His mother stood at the stove preparing their dinner. Pushing the plate around, his faced grimaced at the smell. He glanced at his mother and then back to the table. He eyed her as he smiled deviously. She hummed as she added the last bits of spices on the chicken. She grabbed a potholder and spatula. Carefully, she placed a breast on each plate. Instead of the chicken landing on the plate, it was set on the wooden table. She frowned and muttered to herself.

"I thought I put the dishes out." She looked at her son who shrugged his shoulders and continued to swing his feet back and forth. She shrugged and placed the pan with the chicken in it back on the stove and then opened the cupboard for another set of plates. She set each one between a fork and knife. Then, she turned back to serve the chicken.

"One. Two. Three." She said as she placed each piece on the white plates. She smiled and said, "Well dig in." Her son looked blankly back at her.

"What's wrong?" She asked trying to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"I don't have a fork." He said. With an eyebrow cocked, she turned her back to the boy, and her arm reached for the silverware door. Quickly, she whipped the utensils out and then whipped back around. Her son smiled at her as he carefully swung his feet back and forth. She eyed him and then put the silverware in their places. Fork on right, knife on the left. She smiled and then gestured at him to start eating. He picked up his fork and stabbed the chicken. She shook her head and then turned back to make some coffee. Her husband preferred coffee with his meals because it helped him stay awake. Just as she fished the grounds out of their container, she saw a tentacle reaching for a cupboard handle.

"GARFIELD!"

The tentacle froze midway to the cupboard. She turned around to find an octopus sitting in her son's seat holding six pieces of silverware clasped in each tentacle. The sea creature morphed back and the forks and knives fell to the ground. The boy gave his mother a sheepish grin as she wiped a hand down her face.

"What's going on in here?" A tall man stood against the door framed. He was looking at the ground, carefully studying the silverware on the floor.

"Are we eating dinner on the ground?"

The woman fumed. "Mark, control your son or you will never get your meal."

The man walked over to his son and playfully mussed with the boy's hair.

"Gar, give your mother a break, ok?" He looked over to his wife. "Marie, have a seat, and I will pick up this mess."

The woman complied and rested herself at the head of the table. Mark rested a fork in his son's hand and then his wife's. Next, he put knife in their free hands. Then he sat himself across from his son. Looking to his wife and then to the boy, he propped his silverware up and said, "Dig in folks." Marie sighed and began to cut her chicken. Mark smiled and did the same. Garfield hesitated. Instead, he tapped the fork lightly on the plate. Marie stopped chewing as she noticed the beat that filled the air.

"Garfield, eat your dinner, I'm not making anything else." He continued to beat on the plate. His mother rested her chin on her fists and looked her boy straight in the eyes.

"Sweetie, why aren't you eating? You've been acting funny ever since I told you we were having dinner."

Looking at his plate and then up to his mother he said, "Mommy, I can't eat this."

His mother's eyelashes fluttered. His father stopped chewing for a moment.

"Why not Gar? Looks good and tastes good."

"At least some one appreciates it." Marie muttered under her breath.

The boy raised his eyes to his mom and sighed. "It looks like a hunk of flesh mommy. It could be my flesh."

Marie raised an eyebrow and then looked down at her chicken. It sat placidly on the plate wrapped in smooth, glossy skin. She looked at her husband who shrugged and then over to where her son was. Only he wasn't there. Marie frowned with confusion until she saw a mouse scurrying up the leg of the table and then seating itself on her white plate. The mouse then proceeded to transform into a little chick next to the breast. It gave out a little peep and stared back at Marie very seriously. Then, it morphed back to her son and he asked her, "would you eat me, mommy?" Marie bit her lip.

"Oh, you have got to be joking." Then, she picked up her fork and stabbed a piece of the chicken.

She looked at Mark who smiled back at her as he placed his silverware down and pushed his plate away. The boy and man waited, staring at her as she held the food halfway to her mouth. She glanced down at her son, who was still sitting on her plate, and then at her husband. She opened her mouth a little wider very much aware of the pairs of eyes on her. The fork moved a little closer. Pause. The fork dropped to the plate and she sighed with defeat.

" I'll make us a salad."


	5. Gizmo:Hardware

Well this is the story of Gizmo and where he might have gotten interested in tech and his colourful language. I decided to look up some stuff, but there wasn't much. The information I did get was from D.C. so some detail comes from that. It's from the recent comic of the Teen Titans and how they developed the character Gizmo. How Gizmo is probable the offspring of the oringinal Gizmo(I forget his real name) So I took that premise, but in my story, the father was never a criminal, just alittle off his nut. ButI think I might write about that later. Everything else is from me. Completely fictitious :). Actually, I encourage anyone to read the Teen Titans comic, especially those who are Beast Boy/Raven fans. There are some touching moments. So I don't own Teen Titans or DC comics.

* * *

His foot fell upon a weak step. _Snap! _The rotten wood finally had given way, and the boy crashed through the steps. He muttered under his breath, and then pulled himself up. He sighed as he walked through the door-less frame that led him into the mudroom. He kicked off his sneakers, and dropped his backpack to the ground. As he walked into the kitchen, he heard the TV blaring from the living room. Leaning against a wall that had most of its paper peeling off, he listened to the different ads and sale pitches floating from the chattering box. For a moment, reality felt very far a way. He closed his eyes and then opened them again. Happening to glance at the countered, he saw his reflection in the toaster. He rubbed his head andsuddenly, everything was very close once more; he had agreed to it and still did not have any regrets. Grabbing a pudding pack from the fridge, he headed up his room. 

Ascending the wall were pictures of his family. Some of the pictures were slightly tilted and dust covered most of them. At the landing, he turned to the left to where his room was. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out an old key. He undid the lock and the door swung open. The room was filled with different types of computers stacked on top of one another. It was a technological jungle. Wires snaking along the scratched up wooden floors. Monitors giving off glassy stares. The plethora of hard drives buzzing like careless mosquitoes.

The boy plopped himself in front of the screens, spinning slightly in the chair. He typed in a pass code his eyes lighting up ever so slightly. The monitor greeted him with an array of blueprints. He leaned forward completely absorb. His eyes frantically scanned the screen, trying to absorb as much as he possible could. The tension and anxiety the boy exuded would be unbearable for most to watch. But he had seen this information all before. He no longer studied the endless equations, measurements, and materials. Instead, he searched for something that could never be found on the many hard drives that cluttered the room in chaos. A relationship that one could never have with inanimate objects. Or, so one would think.

Many of the boy's memories related back to the doorway. When he was much younger, he stood hours against the oak frame watching his father steadily amalgamate himself into the computers. His father always said that computers were the way humans were supposed to be. Practical, reliable. Unfortunately, the main hard drive had had some bugs in it when people came into being, so humans were not like this. His father, the inventor, a no-nonsense man could not wrap his mind around this concept. If he had had the right tools, all could have been easily fixed. However, he could not mend the intangible with rewiring and an upgrade.

Things had gone wrong with the relationship the man had with the boy's mother. Thus, his father had clung to the software more than ever. They became his obedient family, and the boy's mother and he had become obsolete. Nevertheless, the boy did not leave his father's side. Continually, he stood outside the room, analyzing each movement his father made. At night, the glow from the computers became his nightlight, and the humming from the hard drive his lullaby, as he would nestle in front of the door with a ragged blanket and a pillow that had once been white.

However, the man could never have stayed content with merely reading off equations and finding the mandatory materials. His father wanted to _create_. And that's when the _incident_ had occurred. It was late at night when the boy felt his father nudge him awake. When he looked up into his father's eyes, they seemed to glow witha hauntingdementia. It was as if his father had become possessed. With mechanical movements, his father had scooped him up, telling him he was going to participate in the man's greatest experiment yet. The boy's eyes had enlarged by the thought of an experiment. Once his father's phase of _inventing_ had started, they had lost many kitchen appliances, and the yard held reminisces of the failed projects, wielding the evidence with the scorch marks left in the lawn. Yet, even with all this prior knowledge, he did not protest his father. He allowed the man to carry his limp body down the stairs and out into the chilly night towards his father's shed where most of the man's _creations _took place. It had stood tall in the moonlight, looming over both of them, appearing ominous, warning the boy to run away, or scream loudly for his mother. Instead, he permitted the man to carry him inside, letting the doorway swallow them both. But he didn't care, he was with his dad.

The rest of the events of that evening remained a blur, but the results were blatantly evident. His mother left after she saw what his father had done to him. Telling the man he didn't care for his family, only for his computers. She tried to get the boy to come with her, but he refused. As much as she protested, he did not go with her. He had clung to the doorframe as she tried to pry him away. She fell to the floor and wept beside him, telling him how much she loved him. But the boy only clung harder, raising the dirty blanket to his face as his mother sobbed. His father had sat at the computers. Whether or not his dad heard the commotion was not important. The boy had been allowed to stay. Unfortunately, it didn't matter now.

_Tink! Tink!_

The boy blinked. His thoughts had been interrupted. While he had been lost in thought, it had begun to rain outside. Disastrously, when it rained, the house leaked. He watched as the water drip squarely on top of one of the monitors. He gritted his teeth every so slightly.

He walked down the stairs, passing by the titled frames holding moments from disappearing in to the past. For all he cared, they never existed. He walked over to the backside of a couch that sat perfected aligned with a TV. Its rabbit ears were bent in opposite directions, but merely in vain for the picture remained in haze.

"Grandpa, it's raining."

The elderly man gave a snort. The boy cleared his throat.

"Grandpa, it's raining in the _house. _It's dripping on the computers, and I don't want them to short circuit and…"

The man waved lazily from the cigarette burned couch.

"Boy, I'm tired of hearing 'bout this useless crud-ware. If it's so great, shouldn't it be able to move itself? Shoot boy, go play out in the rain like a normal kid. Just like your father. Wasting your skunking time on freak'n useless crud."

The boy had backed up to the fading wallpaper. His grandfather repeatedly put down his son-in-law. And on this particular day, the boy didn't want to hear it. His father had not _wasted _time. He had seen much of what was on the computers. His father's ideas were brilliant. Whether or not anyone realized it, his father had indirectly taught him so much. The boy continued to back up in defeat, not wanting to listen to the old man's tirade. In the process, he knocked over the fan that had been blowing on the old man. He heard his grandfather sniff and mutter, "worthless piece-o-junk."

Then, the grandfather proceeded to prop himself up on the molding couch and stare the boy straight in the eyes. The boy knew he wouldn't be able to escape. The man licked his lips slightly, as if he was relishing his own words about to be spoken.

"Jesus boy, why don't you just fix it yourself. Just like your old dad, eh? He was good at that wasn't he?" His grandfather smiled crookedly at the boy. He couldn't look at his grandfather. And his grandfather knew it, too. The old man's horse voice continued.

"Honestly, you rassa-frassin cludgeheads just think you can walk around like freak'n kings of the world. Ya'll just a bunch of scum buckets. You hear me? Worthless sacks of nose hairs. You listening ya piece of snot? Think you can solve the world's problems with a wild invention? Don't know why my daughter married that pit-sniffing moron, and look what happened. Blowed himself up king hell high most likely. Why I'm willing to bet that he's de…"

However, the boy had long since tuned the man's incessant rambling out. He saw the faded wallpaper and the fuzzy TV. The water droplets that leaked in from the ceiling crashed inside his head. He could still feel the wood that scratched his skin as he crashed through the stairs. The mumbling from his grandfather circled his head as his hand found its way to his pocket. Gripping the key tightly, he left the room to leave his grandfather with the man's hypotheses.

Sweat dripped down the boy's face. It was late as he pasted the last bit of paper on the wall. His hands smoothed down the yellow paper that had light blue flowers scattered in a fortuitous fashion. He thought to himself, as he pressed down on it once more, maybe his mother would have liked it. He stepped down from the latter. Now that he had put up the last of the paper, he was going to make a door for the entryway. It was still raining too hard for him to go up on to the roof, but soon or later, he would tackle the shingles. Most likely, that would happen later in the morning, when the rain wouldlikely let up.

He passed through the living room, the TV still blaring. He could hear the soft snoring of his grandpa who had fallen asleep on the couch. The fan still lay on the ground, the blades whipping around and around. It made the dust dance on the ground in small circles. He would get a broom later, since they didn't have a vacum. Or better yet, he could build one. There was still his father's shed that hadn't been opened in while. There was bound to be some materials he could use.The grandfather gave a snort and turned over on his side. It snapped the boy out of thought, forcing his legs to walk out of the room towards the front door. There was still a lot of work to do.

The measurements were all correct. He drilled into the frame so he could screw in the hinges for the new door he had made. He had seen a blueprint on his father's computer on how to do it: on how to do most everything he had done into the early hours of the day. His digital wristwatch read four thirty. He continued his drilling. As he made the last hole, his grandfather padded in to the room, scratching his scraggly chin.

"What in crud's name ya doing ya no good piece of sludge?

The boy didn't take his eyes off what he was working on.

"Didn't cha hear me? Stinking no good scuz-for-brains, you pay attention to me right now or I will…"

"Why don't you go back to your couch, ya worthless sack of scum."

His grandfather gawked at the boy. He held up his hand and opened his mouth, only to discover there was no retort that came to mind. His grandson still leaned over whatever the boy was working on. Obviously, the boy was finished with the man. The grandfather gave the boy one last glare, muttering something about 'useless gizmos' and turned, shuffling off, leaving the boy to his work.


	6. Raven:Nightmare

Ok so after seeing the prophecy, I had to write something about it. So I decided to include it as dreams Raven used to have as a child. It must have haunted her right? I also included why she did not realize she destroyed Azarath. **So, the dream sequence at the beginning is sort of like her father contacting her, implanting the future, and revealing the past to her. **

Thank you angst equinox and boynetough for taking the time to read and review my story. It means so much to me. I'm going to do as many characters as I can. I have a story developing for Bumblebee, Starfire, and I actually have an idea for Kitten. I think I want to get most of the characters to where they are right before Teen Titans started. Like how Jinx is recruited for the HIVE. Stuff like that. Again, it means so much to me you read my story, AND reviewed. It's like Christmas!

I don't own Teen Titans.

_

* * *

The air around her crackles, aching with a fiery red. Buildings are reduced to crumbling under the heat and pressure. Through her fingers, she sees everything unfolding, the strings of morality loosening at the seams. She hears the cries for Azar as a demonic growl tumbles through the demolished landscape. Her stomach tightens. She knows if she could find the source that she could capture and contain what has caused all of this. She floats gentle over the war torn area, trying to be respectful as possible. Again, another growl rumbles and she feels her bones shake. The closer she gets the harder her heart pounds. She turns a corner, and __huddling on the ground is a small, girlish figure. The figure swivels, reveling four eyes. She steps back, gasping at the sight. The figure trembles and as she looks harder, she realizes these eyes glisten with tears._

_Before she can pull herself away from those eyes, a claw like hand reaches out, clasping her waist and dances her through the air, until she is face to face with the figure. The force releases her to create a platform for her to stand upon. Part of it separates and snakes up her small body. It molds itself into a hand that now tilts her chin up. She feels its cold electricity scurry along her face and she swallows a hard lump that has formed in her throat. She notes the figure is standing now, the arid landscape framing the background. It is eerily beautiful and haunting as it steps towards her on the wasted land. It examines her closely, as pools gather in the red eyes._

_Daughter… It reverberates through the melting air._

_The figure moves as if it has been electrified. It contracts as if its insides have folded into themselves. She sees it is in pain, as it coils itself up into a small ball. She reaches forward as an attempt to console the figure. As her fingertips linger over its head, its face snaps into view. She pulls her hand away as two large, violet eyes gaze up, so very sad, so very fierce. They blink, those eyes, holding control of the figure's very essence. It releases itself from it binding, carefully unwinding its limbs so it can stand. Once stable, it flows forward, so its face is right in her ear, but as it speaks, its voice is distant._

_'They do not know the images I have seen. They may feel the urgency to act, to fight the evil. But they do not truly understand it is I. I am evil. They have not seen the ruined city. They have not seen the twisted flesh with their agonized faces. They do not realize that that is what will appear on their visages. A modern day Pompeii. And I will stand ideally by. For this is what will come. Who could expect a gem so spoiled? Rotten and etched with toxins molded by the devil himself.'_

_'This is evil. And little do they know they will have held it. Invited it into their home. Respected it as friend. Invested trust in it. The very place they will rest their hands is where the maleficent force lays waiting. Pacing through the veins of its doorkeeper. Trembling under skin, waiting for the timely opening. And it shall come to pass. The writings will appear once more, no need to translate it will all ready be spelled out. The reckoning, the force will tear through bone. And the once colleague they've comforted and held, they won't dare touch. Foolish to escape the pass for with its cyclical nature it returns to future present.'_

_After the last words are whispered into her, she sees the figure's body manipulate once more. As it is rolled into a ball, she sees the soulful eyes give her one last glance. They are pained and she knows they have lost their control. The movement continues, but this time accompanied by screams as red writings sear the top of its skin. Then it pulls its face out from the fetus position, peering up at her again, but now with the four red orbs. They light up as tears finally spill, and its mouth bleeds a message out._

_'What you will conceal, you will become. '_

The child screams. Her frame shakes violently. Through her tear's she sees the shimmering frame of her mother. She feels the woman's arms wrap tight around her. The woman's body is panicked, bumbling down the dark hallway muttering under her breath, "why can't you just leave her alone? Why can't you leave her alone?" She clings tighter to her mother's chest, which makes her think they look like opossums traveling through the trees, instead of the looming hallway. The woman curses as she trips over some laundry on the floor.

"Damn you, Trigon. DAMN IT!"

The girl stiffens as she hears her mother say _that _name. Her face burns, and she is dizzy with confusion. The hallway blurs into the bathroom, its bright florescent lights stinging her sleepy eyes. Her mother shifts her from one side to the other. The girl squeezes her eyes shut. The movement makes her feel like her head is a top, spinning round and round. All she wants is for the world to stop moving. For gravity to hold just a little tighter.

The cool porcelain comes as a surprise to her clammy body. She shutters and stares up at the yellow ceiling. Briefly, she sees her mother's figure move over her and then a moan as the faucet turns. The water comes at her, flooding over her gray skin. The liquid creeps up on her, like marching ants. Her mother sits on the toilet, not moving just arms tightly crossed around her aging body. The girl lays limp as she watches the water continue to rise to the corners of her eyes. Her belly protrudes up like an island. She imagines a palm tree sticking out from her bellybutton: Like one of the ones she has seen in her books she has read. The mother whispers how sorry, how sorry she is and then collapses from her seat and is on the ground by the tub rubbing her hands over her daughter. The girl looks up into her mother's tear streaked eyes. Her mother's lips are trembling.

"I'm so sorry, Raven, I'm so sorry."

The girl blinks once. Twice.

"It was him again."

The mother wipes her hands across her face.

"I know," she says, "I know."

She sits up in the tub. Her mother stares back at her.

"What did I do to Azarath? Why did we leave?"

The mother bites the inside of her lip. The girl can see her hesitation, wondering what the mother could be mauling over. The woman knows she should say something. But what? The truth? How much can a four-year child handle? She has already lost her childhood. Her father made sure of that. How much guilt can the mother place upon Raven? How much?

"I missed my home, Raven. I did not always live in Azarath, you know that."

Raven bites her lip.

"I'm sorry mother."

Her mother immediately regrets what she has said. The mother knows her daughter could look into her mind, but her daughter has respect for the mother. If only she respected her daughter more. No this is right, she says to herself as she shakes her head. Her daughter already knows her destiny; the girl does not have to know what her destiny has done.

Raven has reached for a rubber ducky, splashing it lightly in the water. Her mother reaches a hand towards her, brushing a purple lock behind her ear.

"There's no need to say sorry, Raven. It's just the way it is."


End file.
